A Few Days in Chicago 5
by sarapals with past50
Summary: Sara and Grissom travel to a seminar in Chicago, months before she moves to Las Vegas, developing the "trust" to get her there. All fluff--maybe a little angst, no one dies, no one gets hurt, just a feel-good short story! Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

_Continues the story of how Sara gets to Las Vegas and develops the "trust" of Grissom. _

**A Few Days in Chicago Chapter 1**

Sara was eye level with the skull. She had named her "Lucy" after the three million year old skeleton found in 1974—the skull was never found. "What color were your eyes?" Sara asked. There was no one else in the room so she expected no answer.

A box was ready to be packed, the address labeled for Dr. Terri Miller. Sara had talked to Dr. Miller who had agreed to try reconstruction techniques on the skull and wanted top billing on any published work. Sara did not care who got professional acknowledgement; she wanted someone to know their wife or mother or sister had been found. She carefully wrapped the skull in bubble wrap and placed it in the box. Her boss called the skull "Sara's baby" and in a way it was. She had gone through enough paperwork, talked to dozens of people, and had not found a trace of any likely identity.

A week had passed since her emergency room visit. Grissom called her every day within the hour she left work. He told her what happened in Las Vegas, making it sound exciting—one morning she accused him of exaggerating his story and that night a fax from a Las Vegas newspaper waited for her in her box at work. They talked about San Francisco, bike riders, the craziness of the world in general.

And her boss approved her travel to Chicago, not as vacation days but as professional leave. She almost kissed him but he held up a hand saying "Just learn something." He gave her a wink. "And write it up when you get back." She did not mention Grissom, but he knew.

She made a follow-up appointment with her own physician the next week who apologized as she examined Sara. "It happens so rarely," the doctor said. "We'll get you on another pill, using a diaphragm, whatever it takes."

"I don't want to get pregnant!"

The physician chuckled. She had heard this statement often. "Are you using condoms? It's the safest practice against disease—for both of you." The doctor had given this safe sex talk to hundreds of women. She gave Sara a paper bag filled with information, condoms, spermicide, and three months of oral contraceptives.

"I want you to return in three months, just to check you out."

It was easier telling all this to Grissom in a phone call conversation. She heard the laughter in his words, but she also sensed the concern in his voice when he said, "I need to be more responsible."

Paula returned to work and within the week requested a transfer to the day shift. Sara knew this was coming, yet loyalty to her boss kept her from making the same request. Her contact with Paula would become infrequent and eventually develop as a distant friendship. Sara had never been good at maintaining ties—she worked too much, was not a party girl, never entered into friendships quickly, and chose to work or disappeared around holidays. The next month meant one holiday following another; she would work every shift so others could be off.

Before she was actually ready, days passed and she was packing for Chicago. Carefully, she packed her red skirt and top she had worn in Las Vegas. It was the one dress-up outfit she owned. Grissom would meet her at the airport; his flight arrived within an hour of hers, same airline, same terminal. This would be easy and fun.

But she wasn't prepared. Walking up the jet way, she could feel the cold wind blowing in the doors and cracks. Her coat was little more than a windbreaker jacket. Her feet were warm in her boots; Grissom had been right, the boots had quickly become her favorite footwear.

Grissom kept his promise. She saw him at the escalators.

Sara wasn't prepared for the blonde woman at his side. Later, she would remember the hair—starkly platinum, the skin almost the same color, and her lips—red, very red. Now, all she saw was Grissom's smile and his hand on this woman's back in the same gesture he used with her. In seconds, she saw herself, in jeans and thin jacket, her hiking boots, her lack of makeup, in comparison to this elegant model-looking woman in a very expensive warm coat, tailored slacks, perfect hair and makeup, and flawless manicured nails.


	2. Chapter 2

_Read on!! And of course it is not Teri Miller! She and Grissom had never seen each other when she appeared in the first season! _

**A Few Days in Chicago Chapter 2**

"Here she is!" The excitement in his voice was obvious when she walked up and her smile of relief was probably just as obvious to him. "Sara Sidle, meet Margaret Walker. Dr. Walker is one of the speakers."

Sara managed a quick recovery in time to extend her hand. After introductions were finished and luggage claimed, Grissom led the way to the downtown train, both women following him. He talked the entire trip—only when the train slowed did Sara realize that Grissom was nervous. He talked about the seminar and pointed out lighted land marks of Chicago as the train slowed. They saw huge mountains of dirty snow piled on roadsides and in parking lots. Second largest snow storm in history, Grissom said, just a week before they arrived.

Sara hid her smile as Grissom and Dr. Walker jostled to haul luggage from the train while she grabbed her one suitcase and moved easily through the station. Feeling guilty, she turned to Grissom saying "Give me something to carry." And she took a padded bag.

Outside, she realized for the second time she was not dressed for the weather. The wind was making wind tunnels of the streets stinging her face and hands with cold invisible needles. All three filled a cab with Grissom providing the address of a hotel. Her eyes watered from the cold but in the darkness she wiped the moisture with her sleeve. She glanced at Dr. Walker who appeared undisturbed by the weather, the lateness of the hour, or the fact that it had taken three people to haul her luggage from train to taxi.

Dr. Walker was staying in a small, boutique hotel; Sara breathed a little easier when she heard that. The woman was smart, but aloof, distant, Sara thought. Grissom was out of the cab as soon as it stopped, talking about the conference, watching as the blonde woman disappeared inside.

When he crawled into the back seat with Sara, his hands found her hands. "Honey, you are cold!" It was the first time he noticed her jacket, her lack of gloves. "We'll get you warmed up." His arm went around her as he pulled her to the center of the seat.

Their hotel was one of the new high rise buildings overlooking the river and lakefront; its lobby soared overhead to multiple floors with elevators zipping to the top in seconds. It did not take long to check in and get to their room. Grissom watched as Sara explored this room as he had seen her do on other occasions. The corner room was bigger than the usual hotel room, with two tall windows facing the lake, the king size bed, covered in white and brown, positioned so that one could see the sky and the lake. Two padded chairs, a desk, the large standard cabinet with television and refrigerated bar sat in an alcove. Huge scenic drawings of old Chicago hung on the walls.

The bathroom was half the size of the bedroom—shower and tub, double sinks, in gleaming white and stone, huge white towels and robes hung against the wall. Sara returned to the bedroom and touched the complimentary basket on the desk. She turned at the window to smile and asked why he watched her.

Her words brought him to her side. When she kissed him, their awkward meeting at the airport was forgotten. She no longer thought about her clothes or how cold she had been. He was warm, his hands wrapped around her and she found that space against his shoulder and neck where her head fit so perfectly.

"I've missed you every day," he whispered.

Sara felt the knee-weakening warmth pooling in her body. Her eyes found his bright ones and she saw a rising flame—she could not look away. Their faces came together; she wanted to tell him how self-conscious and uncomfortable she felt in the presence of a woman like Margaret Walker. She wanted to know why he was nervous, but none of her thoughts worked to the front of her brain. She wanted the passion that she knew she would find with him.

When her hands flattened across his chest, she heard a low groan deep in his chest and she felt powerful knowing she had this effect on him. His mouth closed over hers. Her hands moved up to his neck, her fingers found his hair.

"Sara." Her name came from him in a soft breath of air. He backed across the room taking her with him until he found the bed. Both fully clothed, he lay beside her as his hand explored her face, his fingertips touched her chin, her lips, and traced each eyebrow. Sara had remained quiet and even the voices in her head were silent.

"Are you okay?" He asked.

Her eyes closed as she buried her head against him. "I'm fine. I really am." Her mouth curved in a smile. "I'm fine."


	3. Chapter 3

**A Few Days in Chicago Chapter 3**

Grissom held her face with both hands and kissed her before she could speak another word. Her arms encircled him. Slowly, with much more control than either could imagine, they undressed. Sara unbuttoned his shirt and kissed him for each one. Her pullover came off much easier and he spent long minutes with her black bra.

"I'm always fascinated by these."

She giggled. The sound of her voice flooded both with relief. His hands moved around her waist and unsnapped her jeans then moved to her naked back. She shivered at his touch.

"You are cold."

"No. I'm never cold when I'm with you."

Her hand against his chest gave such intense heat that it threatened to consume every other sensation. He was desperate for her. Her expression, her eyes, her smile made him forget all resolve to be responsible.

The covers were sliding off the bed by the time they were underneath the sheets. He tried to extend the pleasure of being touched intimately by Sara, but he was forced to trap her hands in his.

He pushed her into the pillows and let his hand slid along her bare thigh. He heard her quiet moan and as he continued to touch her, to kiss her in intimate places, he knew she was lost, no notion of what went on around her. He knew because he was going to the same place.

He moved, covering her body with his until his mouth found hers while both gasped in pleasure. When he opened his eyes, he saw large brown ones, somewhat dazed, looking into his.

For all his determination to be responsible, to talk before they ended up in this position, he had not had much success. And seeing Sara in this dreamlike state, her hair tangled around his arm, the beginning of a contented smile made him forget any thoughts about responsible talk.

She curled beside him bringing her head to rest against his shoulder and neck; the place he would place his hand when he was alone and remember exactly how she felt.

"Sara?"

"Mmmm." It was a warm hum from deep in her throat.

She fit perfectly into a space made by his shoulder and chest and his hands moved to her hip and back. "You never call me by my first name." He felt her laughter, a quiet sound that rippled around her mouth.

"Yes, I do. You're just never there to hear it."

Grissom propped his head on his hand. "Tell me."

She smiled this time in a teasing, provocative way. "In my dreams you are always Gil. Sometimes you are Gilbert."

It was his turn to smile. "I'm in your dreams?" He liked the way that sounded.

Another smile and she snuggled closer. "We are always like this." She giggled. "I don't think we get to do anything else."

Spontaneously, he spoke words he had thought about for months. "Move to Las Vegas, live with me."

This caused her to attempt to pull away from him, but he kept her close. She relaxed again against him. "I can't. I need to stay in San Francisco. At least for a while."

He wanted to press, he wanted to know why, but some troublesome memory stopped his questions.

"Do you need anything, Sara?" He had worried more about the emergency room trip than he had let her know. He had worried about her being alone, about her working too much, about her eating too little.

She shook her head. "I'm fine." Her eyes opened. "I need to buy a warmer coat if I'm going to be outside."

Grissom chuckled. "There's a great department store around the corner. I believe they will have a perfect coat." He had rolled to wrap her in his arms. Sara's warm breathing against his chest gradually slowed as she slept. It took him a while longer before he joined her.


	4. Chapter 4

_Enjoy! Thanks for reading!_

**A Few Days in Chicago Chapter 4**

Neither had thought to close drapes on the two windows and morning sun woke Grissom who found Sara so deeply hidden under covers that for a second he thought she was already out of bed. Until he found her warm body with only a slight shift of his own. He slipped from bed, started coffee, and got in the shower. He knew if he stayed in bed he would never make the breakfast for the seminar.

"What time are you speaking?" He heard her muffled voice from underneath the covers. When he told her, a dark tangle of hair and two dark eyes appeared. "I think I can sleep a little longer." Before he finished dressing, she was asleep. For a few minutes he stood beside the bed watching her sleep.

Too young, he thought. Her life was just beginning, her career on its first step. How long before she realized all of this—that he was too old, to confirmed in his ways. He wiped his face and left her sleeping.

Later, before he spoke, he saw her slip into the back of the room. There were few people her age at this seminar, he realized. This was a group of older men, a few women, and so specialized that it took years for a crime scene investigator to rise into this specialized field of bugs, insects, and timelines. Dr. Walker's research on the use of pig cadavers as human substitutes had just finished and everyone in the room wanted to hear more from her. His presentation on temperature, humidity and insect life stages dovetailed with her information. That was part of the beauty of the group—most had worked on specialized research for a year knowing what others were working on and getting together for two days meant placing pieces of a puzzle together.

Grissom tried to wave Sara to the front, but she had already taken a seat near the back between two guys Grissom had known for years. One, a well-known womanizer, would hit on Sara before the hour passed.

His presentation went without a hitch and photographs using a new camera had shown vivid and intricate developments of his insects. He could see Sara standing at the back of the room, arms crossed, and smiling. He had to concentrate on his words.

During lunch another researcher spoke about imported insects; those hitching rides in luggage, on foods, on travelers.

Sara whispered, "I've learned more about insects than I ever wanted to know."

"Go buy a coat." He told her how to get to a store. "Be back in two hours for our trip to the Field Museum. I think we are getting a special treat."

She found a coat, one recommended by the salesclerk as capable of keeping her warm in the near zero temperatures expected, and she purchased a cap, gloves, long silk-like underwear, and thermal socks. She arrived in the lobby in time for the group trip to the museum wearing everything she had purchased.

Grissom commented on her new coat. She told him what else she wore underneath and he had to smile. "Fast learner," was his remark.

The group boarded a bus for the trip to the museum. The sun from the morning had been replaced by dark gray low hanging clouds, making sky and lake indistinguishable. Tall buildings disappeared into the miasma and street lights were dimmed by fog. For all the dismal weather, it did not dampen the enthusiasm of this trip.

Once inside the museum, the quietness that seems to envelope adult visitors in such places closed around them. A curator appeared and led them through huge display rooms, around corners and opened doors marked "Staff" until Sara was sure they had walked underneath the street outside.

The first stop was behind doors marked with three letters; some of the members of the group knew immediately what the letters meant. Grissom shrugged and followed. The doors opened and the soft mummer of voices stopped for a minute as their leader explained.

"This is home to Sue." Several people looked up from their work place as the curator spoke. "We are in the process of making two duplicates of the most complete Tyrannosaurus rex ever found. Within weeks Sue will greet visitors to the great hall." With that simple introduction, conversations started.

As one of the men said, "Everyone loves a dinosaur." The employees showed off their work, the plans, results of scanning the skull, explaining what they had learned. The visitors asked questions and gently held pieces placed in their hands by the curators. Everyone did love a dinosaur, even grown men and women whose first love were bugs. Sara noticed Dr. Walker with a group and she was also the center of attention.

Too soon, the same curator gathered the group for their second and last stop in the museum. Sara checked her watch; they had been in this room nearly two hours and this was supposed to be a quick side trip. The next room was filled with millipedes and spiders, butterflies and moths, in preparation for a special exhibit to open later in the year. The men and women had found their own kind of paradise.

Sara listened to these top experts as their excitement and enthusiasm about their field overflowed to others. One woman, a butterfly specialist, squealed with delight as she held a rare one in her hand. Sara moved away from spiders to the more benign butterflies and moths. One young man quickly realized his audience of one was a listener and stayed by her side as the two walked from display to display.

In what seemed to be no time over two hours passed and the curator returned to usher the group back to the main floor, saying snow was falling and adding another layer to the slush already on the ground. Everyone kept saying "It's not a blizzard." But Sara thought it was. Giant snowflakes floated downward and blew around heads before settling on icy sidewalks.

The group never slowed until they entered a restaurant and did not stop until everyone had a drink in hand and food on a plate. By the time the talk had slowed, which did not happen even while they ate, everyone was full and slightly tipsy. Their hotel was a short walk but the sidewalks were covered in a thick slippery layer of snow and for a group who had taken a long time eating and drinking, it took longer than usual for the laughing men and women to walk the distance to the lobby.

Grissom and Sara lagged behind the others; he wrapped an arm around her warm coat and pulled her close. "Are you having a good time with all these bug experts?" He asked. He appeared slightly buzzed; she knew he had more than a few drinks as bottle after bottle had passed around their table.

Sara was not sure if snow continued to fall or what had fallen was blowing around. It looked like a blizzard, but so many voices said "it's not a blizzard" that she had to believe they knew something she did not. Somehow, with the luck of the intoxicated, the group managed to arrive at the hotel without mishaps.

Back in their room, Grissom began to kiss her at the door, tangling up with her coat while trying to remove his own.

"Wait," she finally pulled away, removed her coat, his coat, hung up her slacks and sweater, taking only seconds, returning to find Grissom softly snoring, dressed except for his coat, and sprawled across the bed. She showered and he continued to sleep, quieter after he had mummy wrapped covers around himself. She tugged enough to roll him into the center of the bed.

His eyes opened briefly. "Marry me." She giggled as she kissed him and tucked covers around his shoulders as one arm flopped lazily across her abdomen. "I love you, Sara Sidle." His words were followed by a deep sigh as he returned to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**A Few Days in Chicago Chapter 5**

Sara did not sleep. Alcohol always kept her awake—not a good thing, she knew. Too often, she had become the care taker, the driver and decision maker for those to drunk to do those things because she was not falling into a stupor. Tonight was no different. It took a long time before she arrived at that place of drowsiness with sleep evading her grasp. She left the bed, finding a spare blanket in the closet and wrapped herself in its warmth.

Moving a chair near the window, she opened the thick drapes to a snow covered landscape. Below her, men and machines in miniature moved in a silent ballet, lights flashing as streets were plowed and sidewalks swept. Around her, stars and city lights twinkled in a cloudless sky. She curled into the chair and let her thoughts go places that she would never allow her body to venture.

The words of her inebriated lover—and he was her lover—concerned her. For months she had refused to form that word in her brain or with her lips. He cared for her, she knew that. He enjoyed having sex with her. He enjoyed talking to her, showing her new things. But last night, in the way his body moved into hers, in the total intimacy she felt as he held her afterwards, his thumb moving against her palm, she realized she loved this man. And tonight, she cried silent tears.

Sara had so little experience with love. Her parents had taught her how to fight, how to escape in books, how to hide her feelings, but not about love. She had boyfriends, usually wanting more from her than sex when they learned she was smart, but there was never love in those experiences. She thought she had loved a foster mother at one time, but when there were half a dozen other kids vying for the same attention, love was not something that managed to develop.

With Grissom, curiosity got her to kiss him that day after burying the dog. Boldness on her part made her suggest a motel room and what followed was total surprise—she had learned that sex was more than the physical act she had experienced. Thinking about that afternoon made her smile even as tears ran down her face. And he returned, the vineyard, the wedding, even the trip to the emergency room, and he still wanted her. No one had ever wanted her. She swiped her eyes and curled tighter into the chair.

XXXX

Grissom woke to a cold empty bed, barely remembering how he got there except for Sara. He remembered her hands removing his shirt and shoes, but she was not in bed. The bright gray dawn caused his eyes to squint and blur images as he attempted to focus while he tasted the morning-after of too much wine, too much brandy. No wonder Sara had moved from the bed—he found her cocooned in a chair.

Quietly, he brushed his teeth and showered and made coffee. She deserved better, he thought. He had watched her interact with his colleagues—she ignored the flashy ones, the pseudo-intellectuals, the pompous, arrogant men who wanted to be the center of important discussion. Instead, she gravitated to the quiet ones, the young men who were new to this meeting, to a somber older woman who came every year and said little, but was an expert in her field of beetles. One or two men had tried to flirt, openly doing those things that men do, and Sara had withdrawn, appearing at his side for awhile until another conversation pulled her away.

Dear God in heaven, he prayed, why did I find her now? Why is she fifteen years younger than me and why does her age trouble me? Why will she not talk about herself? Why does she refuse to say one word?

He returned to the chair. "Hey, Honey." He started to pull her up, but she stretched like a kitten. "Did you sleep all night in the chair? Was I that bad?"

She rubbed her eyes and stretched again. Amazing, he thought, she was not stiff or cramped from sleeping in the chair.

"I couldn't sleep when we got back." She giggled as she unwrapped the blanket. "You were out hard and fast." She wrapped the blanket around them both. "I watched the snow machines and the lights and drifted off." She had found the place against his shoulder where she fit so perfectly.


	6. Chapter 6

**A Few Days in Chicago Chapter 6**

They were in the bed in seconds, and as she touched his hair, kissed his closed eyes, and worked to remove the towel around his waist, he met her with a passion as furious as her own. As men have thought for thousands of years, Grissom thought of a warm sea rising to meet him. She was the warm liquid moving in his direction pushing and covering him with gentle waves that became pounding surf.

"Go with me, Sara." He caressed her until he heard her gasp and felt the surge of passion as intimate needs pulled them into their own world. He was lost. If this were his last moment on earth, he would leave knowing love. He did not want to part from her. His hand moved to a special erotic place, found by some men while others searched, and he smiled; she gasped again, groaning, arching her back with pleasure.

She kissed him afterwards, exploring with her tongue and smiling as he responded.

"Marry me, Sara."

She rested against his chest. "I'll never marry, Grissom. I've always been a loner, never had much of a home. I wouldn't know how to begin to be married." She shifted and he moved his arm so his hand could find the place he sought.

"You know how to be a lover." He had said the word and waited, unable to breathe. He could not see her face but felt her smile against his chest.

"You are an excellent teacher."

Her comment made him laugh. "What do we do?" One or the other had asked this question before. "Does my age bother you at all?"

Sara raised her head and rested her chin in her hand. "Age? I never think about your age, or mine. Does it worry you that you are older than me?" She dropped her head. "That's nothing to worry about, Grissom."

She took his hand and kissed it, gently, before moving her lips to his chin. More troubling thoughts clouded his mind, but he pushed them to the back of his brain. "Sleep, Sara. I'm going to the last seminar. Stay here. I'll be back by noon and we will see some of Chicago." His hand played with her hair until slow, regular breathing told him she was asleep. Tonight, they would have dinner, he would take her dancing; tomorrow, they would leave—how long before they would meet again in much the same way, he wondered. He did not have answers he sought; instead, he had more questions.

Sara was dressed when he arrived back in the room. He watched her gather her coat and gloves; he never thought he would find someone like Sara. He silently laughed at his thoughts. He had given up looking until he found those brown eyes and the smile in that face.

"What?" It was a demand mixed with a laugh.

He spread his arms and she walked into them. Never, he thought, did he ever expect to find a woman like this, not at his age. He stopped his thoughts.

"Let's see some of Chicago. In the cold. Do you ice skate?"

She shook her head. "Slip and slide and fall."

The taxi driver was delighted to have paying customers on a cold day who had no agenda of getting somewhere in record time. He repaid in kind by showing them the tourist points of interest in downtown, skyscrapers with a history, museums, the library, the bridges, and homes of famous people, even slowed to point out the old Playboy mansion. By early afternoon, the two were braving the cold and snow and walking the street known as "Magnificent Mile", entering stores just to warm up before walking another half a block.

They ate pizza in a small place where ovens took up most of the space and watched as the pizza makers handled dough, spread toppings, and served the steaming pies in thick black pans. Sara was sure she had never tasted better pizza when she took her first bite of buttery crispy crust and caramelized cheeses. Warmed and filled, they headed back to the cold street.

A furniture store kept their interest longer than any other place; both surprised by similar tastes in design.

"Great minds think alike," Sara said as they flipped back in a double recliner. She pointed to a small sofa. "I like that one."

He winked and lifted an eyebrow. "I like this one." They sat side by side. "I could watch a lot of golf in this position." His voice deepened slightly. "And I can think of other things I might do."

She pulled him up, laughing at his remark but making no comment.

Grissom bought her a scarf in another store. She purchased three Chicago tee shirts for her boss, for Paula, and another co-worker. They did not have to wait for the elevator to the top of the tallest building, amazing both with the clear view of snow frosted buildings and lake. He wanted to keep a hand on her all afternoon; actually, he thought, he wanted more than hands on her. They kept walking in the cold, sunny afternoon until, hands full of bags, they returned to their room.

_Okay--you got this far, leave us a review, a comment or two! Probably 3 more chapters, and concluded by Monday, maybe sooner. Thanks for reading!_


	7. Chapter 7

_One more chapter after this one!_

**A Few Days in Chicago Chapter 7**

The bathroom door opened and he watched from the shower as she sat hot tea next to the sink. She wore his shirt. Grissom was always surprised with how neat and tidy Sara was with her things. The bathroom showed only her small travel bag with her personal things in it. She always hung up her clothing; unlike his that were strewn around the room and draped over chairs and left on the floor.

"Come in with me," he said as she leaned against the sink. She smiled as she hung his shirt on a hook.

Warm water running off a body caused giggles and slippery touching and desire. When he held her against his hips, her hands around his neck, he did not notice the tremor in her body or the tears in her eyes as he kissed her. She would not agree to marry him, but she knew without doubt she had found the only person she would ever love this way.

By the time Grissom wrapped her in one of the robes and laughed when she said "Who knows how many people have worn this before me," she was smiling. He put his head against her neck.

"It smells clean to me." Neither wore a robe long enough for it to matter as he pushed it from her shoulders. For a while the two wrapped together in a lovers tangle of sheets and warmth as the city lights came on, workers left jobs for homes, and restaurants opened for dinner.

Sara no longer refused to think of the four letter word; she kept it as a constant thought as he moved his hands and lips around her body. This was making love, she thought. This was being in love, she knew.

"How can we do this, Grissom?"

He had reached that point of complete, total contentment that men often brag about when describing sex. Sara was limp and relaxed against his chest when she said her words.

"Stamina."

She pushed her face against his neck. "I mean, how can we do this—continue to meet then part for weeks? Come to San Francisco. You can work there."

It was an idea he had already played with in his mind—and dismissed. He loved his work and his co-workers and Las Vegas and the lab. The Las Vegas Crime Lab was spending a tremendous amount of money on its way to becoming one of the top accredited labs in the country. He wanted to be there, to put his mark on the process. He would get Sara to Las Vegas. He had waited this long, he had lots of leave, and San Francisco was a short flight. He would get her to move.

"We have time, Sara. This is only the beginning."

Later, after another shower, when she walked out in her red dress, he had serious doubts about taking her into a dinner with his colleagues from the seminar. There was no way to hide her legs, her long, elegant neck adorned with a simple chain, or that smile that spread across her face when she looked at him. She was, he decided, simply stunning.

"I think you need a coat," he said.

"I thought we were going upstairs."

"We are, but I need to cover you up!"

When they entered the restaurant at the top of the hotel, every eye converged on the couple. Several, who had realized Grissom and Sara were together, grinned and dropped their face or shifted their gaze. Gil Grissom had found a woman, obviously, a smart woman because most of those at the meeting had not suspected a romantic attachment between the two. Going into the dining room, not one person doubted the sexual attraction between the two.

The men saw a beautiful young woman in a red dress, her dark hair pulled up with a few long curls failing around her face. Those who managed to look past her face fell in love with the rest of her body and they all knew Grissom was the luckiest man in the room tonight.

The few women in the room, including Margaret Walker dressed in a designer black gown, recognized beauty and style when it appeared. Sara Sidle, the young woman who listened more than she talked, who wore hiking boots to the museum, who quietly watched as the group had partied the night before, even lending a hand to several as they stumbled and slid to the hotel, had metamorphosed into a butterfly. For female entomologists that was their ultimate compliment. Grissom, whom they had known for years, had found his Queen Alexandra's Birdwing. A couple of the women hoped he was smart enough to realize what he held in his hand.

The dinner was one for remembering previous meetings, for planning future ones, for discussions of trips and research in an informal setting. It was easy, Sara thought, to see why they met every year and by now, even the first-time attendees were networking. She watched and listened. Occasionally, Grissom's hand would find hers, or she would feel his hand on her back or his fingers sought to lace with hers.

When they heard music from another part of the restaurant, Grissom rose, taking her hand, making polite excuses for leaving the party, and hearing chuckles and comments from others, replied with laughter. "I'm going to dance." He knew he was the luckiest man in the room.

Sara had danced with Grissom before—in a vineyard, at the wedding. Each time, she had been surprised at how graceful he moved, how easy it was to follow his lead, and, most of all, how it felt for his arm to circle her waist and his hand to cover hers as he held it against his chest. They managed three songs before eyes met and an empty room meant more to them than the dance floor.

"You are beautiful, Sara." She stood at the window with a glass of water in her hand. She did not drink much alcohol, he noticed. Even last night, when bottles of wine were passed, she rarely filled her glass. Yet, she told him alcohol kept her awake. "Can you sleep tonight?"

She smiled as he wrapped an arm around her. "I can." She kissed him. "Thank you, Grissom." He looked perplexed. "For this. For getting me here. I know you talked to my boss."

"It was his decision. I just provided the invitation." His hand caressed her face. "Sara, come to Las Vegas. Live with me."

She turned her face to the window, blinking rapidly several times. He noticed the downturn of her mouth before she bit her lip trying to keep her chin from quivering.

"What's wrong, Honey?" Her sophisticated look tonight belied her age but in an instant he saw the youth and uncertainty in her face.


	8. Chapter 8

_Last chapter! Enjoy--_

**A Few Days in Chicago Chapter 8**

Sara shook her head. "Grissom—I'm not—I've…" She stopped talking and turned to him. "This is so hard for me to say."

"You don't have to say a thing." He placed hands on either side of her face as a tear made a damp track down her cheek. "Tell me what I can do." When she sighed a deep trembling sound came from her chest. He pulled her into an embrace. "Whatever it is, it's okay." He moved to the chair where she had slept and pulled her into it with him.

Nearly an hour passed before she began to talk. He had held her and wiped the few tears away that fell, but she never cried. Several times she sighed; a deep sad sound that caused him to press his lips against her hair, to stroke her arm, but he remained silent.

When she began, her voice was a whisper against his neck. "I grew up in foster care, Grissom. It doesn't really matter how I got there—my father died, my mother—she was unable to keep me, so I ended up in foster care."

She talked about college, going across the country, and remaining there for three years as she took as many courses as she could cram into each semester. She made a few friends, learned to party and learned to drink beer, learned how to smile and remain quiet and no one noticed her. She hero worshipped a few of her professors. College was easy.

When she stopped talking or hesitated, he waited.

"I came back to San Francisco after college and found forensics by accident—really found a career that I love." She wiped her face with her hand and sighed again. "My mother lives in San Francisco—we visit each other a few times a month, but we've never been close." Her eyes filled with tears.

"You don't have to tell me any more."

"Yes, I do." She stirred and started to get up.

"Stay here, please."

"My mother—she's not been well in a long time, years. She—she has never been able to…" her words stopped again. "She's not physically ill, Grissom, she's mentally ill. She takes medication to—to function." Her tears spilled down her face.

Over an hour, he thought. It had taken her over an hour to tell him this. Of course, he knew there was much more to her story. He knew about her mother and how her father died. Her boss had provided that information, but he would not divulge what he knew, not now and probably not in the future. This was her story and until she told it, he had no right to know. He did understand why she found some words difficult to say.

"I can't leave her. Not now." She rested her head against his shoulder. "I would like to be with you—I want you to know that. But I can't leave her."

He kissed her again and she responded with one of passion, holding his face against her own. "Let's go to bed," she said.

Grissom moved them to the bed. He remembered how to remove her top. He asked if she wanted something to sleep in. She smiled at his question and shook her head.

"I have you."

He made love to her that night. She was warm liquid moving through his fingers as thought she was waves of the sea. How many men, he thought, in many rooms, in thousands of years, felt as he did about a woman. His entire life had been leading him to this place, this woman, this act with her. He held her as he said the words she could not say. "I love you, Sara. Wherever you are, know that."

Much later, he woke to find her sitting in the chair. She wore his shirt. "Hey."

She unfolded her legs and returned to bed. "Hey."

He pushed covers aside for her to crawl beside him. "Couldn't sleep?"

"Sometimes I think too much, Grissom."

His arms wrapped around her. "We both may think too much." Several minutes passed when neither needed to say words and Grissom was first to speak. "Sara, I am older than you. You asked if I thought about our age difference—I do—a great deal. I think about how young you are. I think about how much older I am." She had found that space against him where she fit so perfectly. "But then you come here, like this, and I forget to think, I forget to be responsible. I want you near me and nothing else matters—not my age or your age or your mother's health or my job. It is a dangerous place for me to be."

He knew she stopped breathing for several seconds before he continued. "There is no place I would rather be." He felt her relax against him.

"I've never been here before, Grissom. I'm not sure what to do, but I know I am safe with you."

He kissed her. "Sleep, Sara. We can figure something out."

XXXX

They stayed in bed longer than they should have but it was where they wanted to be. It meant they had to hurry to the train and hurry to catch their planes.

"Let me take your luggage," he said.

She shouldered her bag. "I can carry my own, thank you."

"Not while we are together."

She kept her bag. "You will not be here always."

He thought it an odd statement, but he did not question her and let her carry her bag. Unlike most women, she traveled light, one bag and a backpack. They talked—about the skull, about golf, about Las Vegas, but they avoided talking about "them" until she was ready to board her plane.

"Sara," Grissom said, "I'll come, soon. Take care of yourself."

She kissed him goodbye as the last call was made for her plane. "I will—Grissom, you know…"

He smiled. "I know. Go, get on your plane. I'll call you later."

_A/N: This concludes their Chicago trip—next—identifying the skull! _


End file.
